The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  Simultaneously, then, Luke and Julian smiled at each other, and held it several seconds too long. Luke was bigger than Julian, and I knew he was fast and strong. But Julian had centuries of experience with weapons behind him. I wondered how I would intervene if either made a move toward the other, because I knew that I would try to stop them. But they let their hands fall to their sides then, as if by sudden agreement, and Julian said, “Let me offer you a glass of wine.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Luke replied, and I wondered whether my presence had kept them from fighting. Probably not. I’d the feeling that Julian had just wanted to make his feelings clear, and Luke had wanted to let him know he didn’t give a damn. I really don’t know which one I’d have bet on.

  Julian placed three cups upon the table, filled them with Bayle’s Best, gestured for us to help ourselves as he corked the bottle, then picked up the remaining cup and took a swallow before either of us could do more than sniff ours. A quick assurance that we weren’t being poisoned and that he wanted to talk business.

  “When I met with him we each brought two retainers along,” he said.

  “Armed?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “More for show, really.”

  “Were you mounted or on foot?” Luke asked.

  “On foot,” he replied. “We each left our lines at the same time and proceeded at the same pace till we met there in the middle, several hundred paces from either side.”

  “I see,” Luke said. “No hitches?”

  “None. We talked and returned.”

  “When was this?”

  “Around sundown.”

  “Did he seem to be a man in a normal state of mind?”

  “I’d say. I count a certain arrogant posturing and a few insults toward Amber as normal for Dalt.”

  “Understandable,” Luke said. “And he wanted me or my mother, or both? And failing to get us, he threatened to attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he give any indication as to why he wants us?”

  “None,” Julian replied.

  Luke took a sip of his wine.

  “Did he specify whether he wanted us dead or alive?” he asked.

  “Yes. He wants you alive,” Julian answered.

  “What are your impressions?”

  “If I give you to him, I’m rid of you,” Julian said. “If I spit in his eye and take him on in battle, I’m rid of him. Either way, I come out ahead.”

  Then his gaze moved to the wine cup, which Luke had picked up with his left hand, and for an instant his eyes widened. I realized he had just then noticed that Luke was wearing Vialle’s ring.

  “It looks as if I get to kill Dalt, anyway,” he concluded.

  “By impressions,” Luke went on, unperturbed. “I meant, do you believe he will really attack? Do you have any idea where he came from? Any indication where he might be headed when he leaves here—if he leaves?”

  Julian swirled his wine in his cup.

  “I have to go under the assumption that he means what he says and plans to attack. When we first became aware of his troop movements, he was advancing from the general direction of Begma and Kashfa—probably Eregnor, since he hangs out there a lot. Your guess is as good as anyone’s as to where he wants to go if he leaves here.”

  Luke took a quick swallow of wine a fraction of a second too late for it to conceal what appeared to be a sudden smile. No, I realized right then, Luke’s guess was not as good as anyone else’s. It was probably a hell of a lot better. I took a quick drink myself, though I’m not sure what expression I might have been concealing.

  “You can sleep here,” Julian said. “If you’re hungry, I’ll have some food brought in. We’ll set up this meeting for you at daybreak.”

  Luke shook his head.

  “Now,” Luke said, with another subtle but obvious display of the ring. “We want it set up right away.”

  Julian studied him for several pulsebeats. Then, “You’ll not be in the clearest sight of either side in the dark, especially with snow coming down,” he said. “Some little misunderstanding could result in an attack, from either side.”

  “If both of my companions bore large torches—and if both of his did the same—” he suggested, “we ought to be visible to both sides at a few hundred yards.”

  “Possibly,” Julian said. “All right. I’ll have the message sent to his camp, and I’ll choose two retainers to accompany you.”

  “I already know who I want to have with me,” Luke said. “Yourself and Merlin here.”

  “You are a curious individual,” Julian observed. “But yes, I agree. I would like to be there when whatever happens, happens.”

  Julian moved to the front of his tent, opened the flap, and summoned an officer with whom he spoke for several minutes. In this space, I asked, “You know what you’re doing, Luke?”

  “Certainly,” he replied.

  “I’ve a feeling this is a little more than playing it by ear,” I said. “Any reason why you can’t tell me your plan?”

  He appraised me for a moment, then said, “I only recently realized that I, too, am a son of Amber. We’ve met, and we’ve seen that we’re too much like each other. Okay. That’s good. It means we can do business, right?”

  I allowed myself to frown. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

  He clasped my shoulder lightly.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You can trust me. Not that you have a great deal of choice at this point. But you may a bit later. I want you to remember then that, whatever happens, you must not interfere.”

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “We haven’t the time or the privacy to speculate,” he said. “So let it go, and remember everything I said this evening.”

  “As you said, I haven’t much choice at this point.”

  “I want you to remember it later,” he said, as Julian lowered the flap and turned toward us.

  “I’ll take you up on that meal,” Luke called to him. “How about you, Merle? Hungry?”

  “Lord, no!” I replied. “I just sat through a state dinner.”

  “Oh?” he inquired almost too casually. “What was the occasion?”

  I began to laugh. It was too much for one day. I was about to tell him that we hadn’t the time or the privacy. But Julian had just reopened the tent flap and was calling for an orderly, and I wanted to throw a few curve balls through Luke’s broken field just to see what they did to his composure.

  “Oh, it was for the Begman prime minister, Orkuz, and some of his staff,” I explained.

  He waited while I pretended to take a long drink of wine. Then I lowered it and said, “That’s all.”

  “Come on, Merlin. What’s it about? I’ve been relatively square with you recently.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  For a minute I didn’t think he’d see the humor in it, but then he began to laugh, too.

  “Sometimes the mills of the gods grind too damned fast and we get buried in grist,” he observed. “Look, how about giving me this one for free. I don’t have anything brief to trade right now. What’s he want?”

  “You’ll bear in mind that this is classified until tomorrow?”

  “Okay. What happens tomorrow?”

  “Arkans, Duke of Shadburne, gets crowned in Kashfa.”

  “Holy shit!” Luke said. He glanced at Julian, then back at me. “That was a damned clever choice on Random’s part,” he said after a time. “I didn’t think he’d move this fast.”

  He stared off into some vanishing point for a long while. Then he said, “Thanks.”

  “Well, does it help or hurt?” I asked.

  “Me, or Kashfa?” he said.

  “I hadn’t split it down that fine.”

  “That’s okay, because I’m not sure how to take this. I need to do some thinking. Get the big picture.”

  I stared at him and he smiled again.

  “It is interesting,” he added. “You got
anything else for me?”

  “That’s enough,” I said.

  “Yeah, probably you’re right,” he agreed. “Don’t want to overload the systems. Think we’re losing touch with the simple things, old buddy?”

  “Not so long as we know each other,” I said.

  Julian dropped the flap, returned to us, and sought his wine cup.

  “Your food will be along in a few minutes,” he told Luke.

  “Thanks.”

  “According to Benedict,” he said, “you told Random that Dalt is a son of Oberon.”

  “I did,” Luke acknowledged. “One who’s walked the Pattern, at that. Does it make a difference?”

  Julian shrugged.

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve wanted to kill a relative,” he stated. “By the way, you’re my nephew, aren’t you?”

  “Right . . . uncle.”

  Julian swirled the contents of his cup again.

  “Well, welcome to Amber,” he said. “I heard a banshee last night. I wonder if there’s any connection?”

  “Change,” Luke said. “They mean things are changing and they wail for what’s being lost.”

  “Death. They mean death, don’t they?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they just show up at turning points for dramatic effect.”

  “Too bad,” Julian said. “But one can always hope.”

  I thought Luke was going to say something else, but Julian began again before he could.

  “How well did you know your father?” he asked.

  Luke stiffened slightly, but answered, “Maybe not as well as most. I don’t know. He was like a salesman. Always coming and going. Didn’t usually stay with us long.”

  Julian nodded.

  “What was he like, near the end?” he inquired.

  Luke studied his hands.

  “Well, he wasn’t exactly normal, if that’s what you mean,” he finally said. “Like I was telling Merlin earlier, I think the process he undertook to gain his powers might have unbalanced him some.”

  “I never heard that story.”

  Luke shrugged.

  “The details aren’t all that important—just the results.”

  “You’re saying he wasn’t a bad father before that?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I never had another father to a compare him to. Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity. It’s a part of his life I knew nothing about.”

  “Well, what kind of brother was he?”

  “Wild,” Julian said. “We didn’t get along all that well. So we pretty much stayed out of each other’s ways. He was smart, though. Talented, too. Had a flare for the arts. I was just trying to figure how much you might take after him.”

  Luke turned his hands palms upward. “Beats me,” he said.

  “Well, no matter,” Julian replied, setting down his cup and turning toward the front of the tent again. “I believe your food is about to arrive.”

  He moved off in that direction. I could hear the tiny crystals of ice rattling against the canvas overhead, and a few growls from outside: concerto for wind and hellhound. No banshees, though. Not yet.

  Chapter 9

  I walked a pace or so behind Luke, a couple of yards off to his left, trying to keep even with Julian, who was over to the right. The torch I bore was a big thing, about six tapering feet of pitchy wood, sharpened at its terminus to make it easy to drive into the ground. I held it at arm’s distance, because the oily flames licked and lashed in all directions in accord with vagaries of the wind. Sharp, icy flakes fell upon my cheek, my forehead, my hands, with a few catching in my eyebrows and lashes. I blinked vigorously as the heat of the torch melted them and they ran into my eyes. The grasses beneath my feet were sufficiently cold to give a brittle, crunching sensation every time I took a step. Directly ahead I could see the slow advance of two other torches toward us, and the shadowy figure of a man who walked between them. I blinked and waited for the flow from one or the other of his torches to give me a better look. I’d only seen him once, very briefly, via Trump, back at Arbor House. His hair looked golden, or even coppery, by what light there was upon it, but I remembered it as a kind of dirty blond by natural light. His eyes, I recalled, were green, though there was no way I could see that now. I did begin to realize for the first time, however, that he was pretty big—either that or he had chosen fairly short torchbearers. He had been alone that one time I’d seen him, and I had had no standard for comparison. As the light from our torches reached him I saw that he had on a heavy, green sleeveless doublet without a collar, over something black and also heavy, with sleeves that extended down his arms to vanish within green gauntlets. His trousers were black, as were the high boots they entered; his cloak was black and lined with an emerald green that caught our light as the cloak furled about him in shifting, oily landscapes of yellow and red. He wore a heavy circular medallion, which looked to be gold, on a chain about his neck; and though I could not make out the details of its device, I was certain that it bore a Lion rending a Unicorn. He came to a halt about ten or twelve paces from Luke, who stopped an instant later. Dalt gestured, and his retainers drove the butts of their torches into the ground. Julian and I immediately did the same, and we remained near them, as Dalt’s men were doing. Then Dalt nodded to Luke, and they both advanced again, meeting at the center of the box formed by the lights, clasping right forearms, staring into each other’s eyes. Luke’s back was to me, but I could see Dalt’s face. He showed no signs of emotion, but his lips were already moving. I couldn’t hear a word that was being said, between the wind and the fact that they seemed intentionally to be keeping it low. At least, I finally had a point of reference for Dalt’s size. Luke is about six three, and I could see that Dalt was several inches taller. I glanced at Julian, but he was not looking my way. I wondered how many eyes regarded us from both sides of the field.

  Julian is always a bad person to check for reactions. He was simply watching the two of them, expressionless, stolid. I cultivated the same attitude, and the minutes passed, the snow kept falling.

  After a long while Luke turned away and headed back toward us. Dalt moved off toward one of his torchbearers. Luke stopped midway between us, and Julian and I moved to join him.

  “What’s up?” I asked him.

  “Oh,” he said, “I think I found a way of settling this without a war.”

  “Great,” I said. “What did you sell him?”

  “I sold him on the idea of fighting a duel with me to determine how this thing goes,” he explained.

  “God damn it, Luke!” I said. “That guy’s a pro! And I’m sure he’s got our genetic package for strength. And he’s been living in the field all this time. He’s probably in top shape. And he outweighs you and outreaches you.”

  Luke grinned.

  “So, I might get lucky,” he said. He looked at Julian. “Anyway, if you can get a message back to the lines and tell them not to attack when we start this thing, Dalt’s side will be holding still for it, too.”

  Julian looked over to where one of Dalt’s torchbearers had started back toward his lines. He turned toward his own side then and executed a number of hand signals. Shortly, a man emerged from cover and began jogs toward us.

  “Luke,” I said. “This is crazy. The only way you’re going to win is to get Benedict for a second and then break a leg.”

  “Merle,” he said, “let it go. This is between Dalt and me. Okay?”

  “I’ve got a bunch of fairly fresh spells,” I said. “We can let this thing start, and then I’ll hit him with one at the right time. It’ll look as if you did it.”

  “No!” he said. “This really is a matter of honor. So you’ve got to stay out of it.”

  “Okay,” I said, “if that’s how you want it.”

  “Besides, nobody’s going to die,” he explained. “Neither of us wants that right now, and it’s part of the deal. We’re too valuable to each other alive. No weapons. Strictly mano a mano.”

 
; “Just what,” Julian inquired, “is the deal?”

  “If Dalt whips my ass,” Luke replied, “I’m his prisoner. He’ll withdraw his force and I’ll accompany him.”

  “Luke, you’re crazy!” I said.

  Julian glared at me.

  “Continue,” he said.

  “If I win, he’s my prisoner,” he went on. “He goes back with me to Amber, or anywhere else I care to transport him, and his officers withdraw his troops.”

  “The only way of assuring such a withdrawal,” Julian said, “is to let them know that if they don’t they’re doomed.”

  “Of course,” Luke said. “That’s why I told him that Benedict is waiting in the wings to roll down on him. I’m sure it’s the only reason he’s agreed to do this.”

  “Most astute,” Julian observed. “Either way, Amber wins. What are you trying to buy with this, Rinaldo, for yourself?”

  Luke smiled.

  “Think about it,” he said.

  “There is more to you than I’d thought, Nephew,” he replied. “Move over there to my right, would you?”

  “Why?”

  “To block his view of me, of course. I’ve got to let Benedict know what’s going on.”

  Luke moved while Julian located his Trumps and is shuffled out the proper one. In the meantime the runner from our lines had come up and stood waiting. Julian put away all of the cards but one then, and commenced his communication. It lasted for a minute or so, then Julian paused to speak with the runner and send him back. Immediately, he continued the conversation with the card. When he finally stopped talking or seeming to listen, he did not restore the Trump to the inner pocket where he kept the others, but retained it in his hand out of sight. I realized then that the contact would not be broken, that he would stay in touch with Benedict until this business was finished, so that Benedict would know in an instant what it was that he must do.

  Luke unfastened the cloak I’d lent him, came over, and handed it to me.

  “Hold this till I’m done, will you?” he said.

  “Yes,” I agreed, accepting it. “Good luck.”